Discovering the Devil

T w e n t y - f i v e

XXV

FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

CHATTINGHAM CASTLE

HARRY was not much of an artist, but that did not deter him. He wanted to get this right. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could still see the portrait of his mother that once stood on his nightstand, the one his father had confiscated. If he could only sit down and concentrate, perhaps he could recreate it. Harry had settled outside in the gardens, where he thought he might be safe.

This was his first mistake. It didn't matter where he was, he must always keep an eye out. He was never safe. The kick against his back wasn't particularly painful, it was surprising. It hoisted Harry off the bench where he sat and into the grass. A boot stamped against his back. Now, this was painful.

"Arthur, stop it," Harry wheezed.

"Why did you tell Papa I stole his brandy?"

"Because you did."

Arthur ground his boot deeper into Harry's back. "I didn't do anything of the sort. You did."

Harry tried to wiggle out of Arthur's grip, but it was futile. "You know I didn't do it. It was you." He felt himself growing angry. "I would never steal any of Father's things. I don't even drink." Well, the last sentence was a lie. Just last weekend, he and Solomon had gotten obliterated with drink. But it had been the Duke of Burberry's gin (which Harry thought was awful), not with his father's spirits. Harry would never dream of stealing from him.

"No, you're lying," Arthur sneered. He beat his boot against Harry, earning a groan of pain. "You're the liar. The thief. The bastard. You took the brandy. It was you."

"It was not," Harry croaked.

"I already told Papa as much." Harry could hear the smirk in his brother's voice. "And he believes me. But I've decided I can't let you get away with lying. So, you're going to go to our dear Father and tell him it was you that stole the brandy, not me. You're going to tell him you lied because—"

"--I will not!" Harry shouted. It didn't matter how many times they—Charlotte, his father, his stepmother, Arthur—pegged him as a liar. He would not lie.

Arthur pressed his boot harder still. "Do you like being beaten, Harry? Is that it? Because that is what will happen if you continue to say no."

"You are the liar. The thief. The bastard," Harry hissed. "I won't lie for you. I don't care what you do."

Harry felt Arthur shift his weight and lean closer. "Do you know that it's possible to get beaten to death?" He paused, allowing the words to sink. "I will thrash you so thoroughly your heart will stop. And once you're dead, I'll tell everyone that you started it, that I was defending my life." Arthur drew even closer. "Do you know that everyone would believe it? There isn't one soul that would miss you, well, besides your pathetic friend. Everyone would believe me. That is what will happen if you do not apologize."

Harry's heart pounded. He knew it was true. Arthur was a burly, tall man of eighteen years and Harry was still a scrawny boy of fifteen. He was aware of the damage his brother was capable of inflicting. Moreover, Harry was acutely aware of his position within the family—the scapegoat, the pariah, the mistake. None of them would question how he passed against Arthur's word, let alone miss him. Fear coursed through his veins, and yet, he refused to be cowed. It did not matter if anyone else recognized that he was a boy of principle, as long as he knew it for himself. "Do whatever you want, Arthur. I won't apologize."

Arthur's boot lifted from Harry's back, and Harry closed his eyes, relishing the brief relief before the storm. And then, he heard a rush of wind and the slam of two bodies. For a moment, Arthur had joined him on the ground and two delightful punches had landed on his cheeks. Harry got up and stared at the brawl in wonder. On top of his step-brother was Solomon, who was even shorter and scrawnier than he, beating the living daylights out of Arthur. Or trying to at least. Two of his blows did indeed land, but Arthur got the better of himself in minutes and soon began to give Solomon a proper beating.